


The Devil's In The House of The Rising Sun

by Flynn_Voltage_Taggart



Category: Friday Night Funkin' (Video Game)
Genre: A little fluffy, Multi, a little angsty, mutual bi panic over pico, nonverbal BF, pre pico battle discussions, we hate daddy dearest in this house
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:55:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29832168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flynn_Voltage_Taggart/pseuds/Flynn_Voltage_Taggart
Summary: "I guess you didn't know it, but I'm a fiddle player, tooAnd if you'd care to take a dare, I'll make a bet with youNow you play pretty good fiddle, boy, but give the Devil his dueI'll bet a fiddle of gold against your soul'Cause I think I'm better than you"BF and GF have a fun conversation on an evening stroll about exes, Daddy Dearest, deals with demons, and BF's sick new beat.
Relationships: Boyfriend (Friday Night Funkin')/Pico (Pico's School), Boyfriend/Girlfriend (Friday Fight Funkin')/Pico (Pico's School), Boyfriend/Girlfriend (Friday Night Funkin')
Comments: 8
Kudos: 56





	1. What If We Held Hands In An Alleyway and Your Dad Wanted Me Dead

**Author's Note:**

> I have no clue what's going on in fanon. I like the funky characters that go bee bo bop and read their wikis. Bone apple teeth.

It was a perfect evening.

Well, perfect evening was maybe a bit too much. Hell, sick might have been an over exaggeration with how muggy the air was.

It was nice. 

It was a nice summer evening made even nicer by the fact the girl he's been courting for what felt like months was holding his hand gently in her own. He wasn't going to question what forces above and below had aligned to allow him to walk her home. He was just happy to have her here with him.

"Lovely night, isn't it?" GF, or what he had affectionately shortened her mysterious title to, asked him in a voice as sweet as a songbird's. 

It was that angelic voice that had drawn him to her in the first place. Hearing her sing along to the cheery little tune at a corner bodega as the bodega's pudgy resident cat circled her long legs in those impossibly tall heels had him hooked. He just had to know more about her. Musical adoration turned into a far too obvious crush which turned into having to placate her demonic father in constant musical competitions. You know. Usual boyfriend stuff.

But she had asked a pertinent question....

So as usual, he nodded along. It wasn't derisive. It just was easier to communicate with gestures. It wasn't that he couldn't speak. He just had his own way of communicating that was far easier on his mind and vocal cords but wasn't great for much other than the little musical tiffs he often found himself in. 

"So, how are you feeling about the battle tonight?"

His hand flew to his forehead, disheveling his already messy poof of cyan hair from under his baseball cap. 

How could he have forgotten that was why he was allowed to be out with his girlfriend for this long?

Her dumb daddy dearest had gotten lazy enough to subsidize his work to someone random.

Well, random was one choice of words....

To his girlfriend's dad, his next opponent was probably just someone who seemed cheap enough for a dirty job and just off kilter enough to commit to it.

The possibility that the choice was purposeful, the possibility that it was rubbing in a fact of heartbreak as if to make a point about what he was protecting his daughter from....he would like to have hope that her dad wasn't that cruel.

I mean, it was bad enough he would have to be facing his high school ex boyfriend who had disappeared without a trace.

GF seemed to pick up on this through the tense silence and prompted, "Do you feel weird about seeing him again?"

He shook his head.

It might be closure to see Pico again. There relationship was fun, but neither of them were in the right place to carry on a relationship. He was in a good place now. He was almost certain he could handle it.

"I definitely see you have a type," she lightly teased, gently squeezing his hand to indicate how playful her tone was.

He stuck out his tongue in mock disgust at her. 

Auburn and copper weren't anywhere near the same type of red head, and comparing the street rap Pico had gotten him into and her range was almost insulting.

He so didn't have a type. Totally not.

Speaking of Pico, there he was, at the end of this poorly lit alcove, mic in one hand and gun in the other hand. His copper hair spiked up in the back and the admittedly flattering dark green sweater and light green jersey were new. The shifty way his finger lingered around the small firearm's safety lock was not.

Yeah, maybe the dark alcove wasn't the best meeting spot for someone with historically bad trigger discipline, but in his defense like a decent enough shortcut at the time. Usually whoever was out to get him was too young or too flamboyant to not do it in broad daylight. It should be fine.

He had spent too long scoping out the competition, or at least judging by the look GF was giving him

"Oh, come on. You have to admit he's a little cute!"

He stuck his tongue out again. Blech. 

"You're not jealous now, are you?"

He shook his head. If he got jealous or upset every time somebody looked at his girlfriend a little sideways, he'd have no time to work on his flow. 

Her hand was on his face, cupping his cheek. It never failed to get his attention. 

"He really is staring you down. Do you know each other from something? What did you do to upset him?"

He tapped his index fingers together, an informal pensive gesture he had picked up from somewhere he could not quite place. 

"It couldn't be that bad."

He shook his head.

"Of course. The inner workings of your mind are an enigma, dear. I could never guess your tragic history."

He tilted his head and just barely stuck out his tongue in a way reminiscent of a puppy, something he used to play innocent with her. It never failed to make her laugh which meant the gesture was priceless.

Refocusing the conversation, "So you're not jealous?"

He shook his head once more.

"We could both ask him out after the show. Don't want him to sulk too much when you beat him."

He shook his head with the slightest tinge of pink in his face. 

I mean...it wasn't the worst idea.

And he was comfortable with GF. He wasn't threatened by the idea, especially with all her loving gests. 

It was fun to be around her in general, to see her less stoic and more free spirited when she listened to his string of beatboxing like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. 

Plus, maybe two guys would be enough to get her dad to finally back off....

No.

No, he wasn't going to streamline assuring his standing with his girlfriend

He shot her another look, just to be sure the message was clear. He had been down that road with Pico. It was the last thing Girlfriend needed, not until they were stable at least.

"You're no fun," she put on a fake whine as she gave him the gentlest shove, more a reminder for him to loosen up before performing than anything else. 

He rolled his eyes back at her before going through his typical mental checks.

Mic?

Check.

Hat?

Fixed.

Shoes?

Tied. (You get tripped by a demon lackey one too many times before you start fretting about your dignity.....

And last by not least, a kiss from GF for luck?

He shut his eyes for a minute, expecting her to take her queue.

Nothing.

A few more seconds passed.

His eyes opened, half expected her to be just waiting to scoop him up for their pre-show kiss and to flaunt her height.

Instead, she was looking away from him, far past the back of the alcove and into the vast and twinkling skyline.

He gently tapped her hand to get her attention.

"I have to ask you one more thing before you get om stage..." her typically soft voice seemed to be tinged with the jagged edges of fear.

He tilted his head and cocked an eyebrow. She was the smart one of the pair, not to mention the intuitive one and the pretty one and just about every other positive adjective he had in his vocabulary. If she was worried, it must be important.

"Are you getting tired of fighting for my attention?" the way her typical cheery smile was clouded by a fretful pout was almost enough to break his heart on the spot 

His immediate reaction was to shake his head no as fervently as he could.

She did not look quite convinced. In fact, if he didn't know her any better, she looked like she might tear up. There was no way that was happening on his watch.

He did what he knew how to do best for her.

He stood on the tip-toes of his beaten up high-tops and planted a kiss on her forehead. It wasn't much, but he could only hope it was enough to let her know he would do anything for her, even if it was constant deals with the devil to spend a bit of time with her.


	2. I've shattered now, I'm spilling out Upon this linoleum ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pico contemplates a bit of gunman for hire work and laments a past relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your support for the first chapter was amazing. Your feedback was phenomenal. 
> 
> For those of you coming from my earlier posts, you are getting another video game polycule and a half-hearted apology for posting cringe on main.

It was a simple deal.

A simple "clean-up" job for enough cash to tide him over for at least another few years of aimless drifting.

It wasn't like Pico enjoyed this sort of work. It was far from it. If he had to list experience he would like to relive, seeing somebody torn apart into Swiss cheese by a semi-automatic weapon was not particularly high ranking on it. That didn't matter though. Principles matters little at times like this. The fact of the matter was he was good with a gun, and the money was even better. He would have expected anyone else to do the same.

Maybe the solicitor was went really sold him on it. That get-up of a used car salesman with a splotch of salt and pepper chest hair from the open suit jacket. The smell of aftershave complimented by a five a clock shadow of a man run ragged by the world. The clatter of a foreign watch and heavy rings emanating from his heavy palms. If anyone had business to take care of and the money and discretion not to just do it themself, it would be someone like the fellow who approached him half-asleep on a train station bench.

Well, there was that and the demon part.

Now, he wasn't meant to be taken for a chump. He knew about Faustian bargains, deals with the devil, that sort of short-term power over morality with some ironic twist trope. It was one of the few things that he had picked up from what little attendance throughout his later school years he could scrounge up. This, however, wasn't a deal with the devil.

No, from what he got, he was just worried about his adopted daughter of a more mortal capacity. He could understand that to an extent. He was sure if most of his past was not buried or torched, he would do anything to protect them. Maybe killing off a potential threat to his daughter's well-being was a bit extreme, but with clients like this, no price was to high for their family. It made it all the easier to agree. 

Hand were shaken, a surprisingly warm one with nails filed into daggers wrapped around a much smaller one slick with sweat from the encounter.

He had already pocketed half of the cash from the deal. It was a small miracle he had held onto it for this long knowing his own impulsiveness.

The MAC-10, his weapon of choice if only because it starkly contrasted the slim, modest, and strictly for self defense pico model of gun he shared a name with, was cold and held a comfortable heft in his palm now that it was fully loaded.

He was at the right location, a dusty little alcove a few blocks from the contractor of sort's residence. Just short enough of a distance to drag a body back to somebody’s doorstep as proof of purchase. 

The only problem with this neat little bargain now was his mark.

Sure, he had a sinking suspicion of who it was when the sleaze ball mentioned the false pretenses of a rap battle, but seeing that hint of cyan hair under the distant streetlights...

Knowing it was him...

Knowing that no matter how much he had run, that something had managed to catch up to him....

That demon couldn't have known that he was setting him up to murder his high school sweetheart in an alley, right?

It was all just a funny little coincidence and not some divine lesson trying to teach him the value of human life as if he had not seen that first hand as a little kid with gunpowder in his hand and blood in his hair, right?

He wanted to convince himself it was an accident, but seeing him like that, smiling and completely oblivious to the fact of what he was meant to hear was getting to him.

He remember the way his fingers brushed over the back of his palm whenever he offered him an ear bud. It had not seemed like much at first and then....

Well, BF, that was the only title or name he'd really given him seeing as him being his best (and only) friend and then his boyfriend was all the really mattered back in the simpler days of sluggish remedial English classes, just had something about him. A reluctant friendship between a slouchy kid who barely spoke but always had the brightest smile in the room and a kid who favored hanging out under underpasses and out by old creeks instead of actually attending classes days was formed. Friendship turned into him showing up at school a bit more just to see BF. Close friendship over shared music and poorly executed skateboard tricks turned into quiet realization. Quiet realization turned into stolen kisses and shared lumpy jackets and sketchy song lyrics passed between in each other in a dialect BF taught him....

It wasn't stable, not in the slightest. There was no way it was not going to burn out one way or another. He was hardly in a good place mentally. Neither of them were out in any sense of the world. No amount of BF's reassuring, lop-sided smiles was going to keep it together. Somebody was going to get hurt, and it sure as hell wasn't going to he him. 

Part of the decision to leave without so much of a goodbye was that, but the other part was how consumptive rumors about his past had gotten. School was already a straining reminder, but when people started making up tall tales about him being some hometown hero and not a kid scared out of his wits and fighting for his life, he knew he could not take it there anymore.

He could practically still hear the static whine of the poorly tuned car radio as he drove past BF's house one last time in the dead of the night before he left. The fuzzy hum was practically haunting as it danced across his memory.

And then there were footsteps, the light clacking of heels to be more accurate.

He was still in an alcove in the balmy summer air that made his green turtleneck cling to him like a damp blanket.

He was still in the alcove, and people were coming.

His mark was coming, and on his arm, his mark had....a beautiful woman dressed to the nines in a shimmering red dress and stilettos sharp enough to poke an eye out.

Oh, that made so much more sense. 

By process of elimination, that must be the contractor's daughter with BF.

Gosh, did his contractor steal a cherub or something? I mean how else do you explain a person being that ethereally tall with hair so long without a tangle and those big doe eye. She was practically perfect...

And a fellow red head. Really, BF? Is that what all the visual thinking led to. 

He shouldn't be so harsh. The poor guy probably had no clue what he was walking into. Probably won over her similarly to how he had accidentally wooed him over a few years ago. He must not have had any idea he was messing with an overbearing demon of a future father in law.

That was right....the stupid deal....the first time he got work in months and it had to be wiping out a pretty boy...

He couldn't go through with it.

Even if there was a bit of a rift between them, there was no way he would leave such a lovely young lady grieving her boyfriend like that. He knew better than that.

And truth be told, there really wasn't any bad blood between them. Sure, a good rap battle just to remind him who was the top dog around here wouldn't hurt, but there was no way he was going to hurt him, not after everything...

He had to think of something fast. It seemed the pair had stopped for now which gave him just enough time to plot something.

Team up to clear his contract? No, BF was too goody two shoes to actually kill off the old man even if his life was directly in harm's way, and he doubted that his daughter would be much help.

He could run, but it seems like they already spotted him based on the vague gestures being made in his direction and the faint whisper of a rather gentle voice. 

He could warn them! He could give them time to run will he made up some story about BF having split, by them both some time to create some distance from whatever that girl's dad was. 

Or he could...try to reconcile with BF....Sure, their history was a bit splotchy, but if anyone would be willing to take an apology for him being a little shit as a teenager, it would be him. And, sure, maybe, he had a girlfriend now, but that was hardly an obstacle. Anyone tough enough to grow up around someone like that demon already met a lot of his vague criteria. She showed a lot of promise. Jeez, having the attention of both of them...

He was getting ahead of himself. Not just with his racing thoughts but also with the fact he had gone to fidgeting with the safety lock on his gun. Terrible etiquette....a nasty habit really...

It wasn't his fault really. It was just that he could hardly take the anticipation.

In fact, he did not have to put up with the anticipation of their upcoming scrap at all now that he thought about it. 

He fired two precise rounds at a trash can just far enough to not risk a ricochet hit and just close enough to disrupt their little tender moment.

He was going to take care of this one way or another. No matter what happened, someone was getting taken out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You get it? You get it?! Because take out has double meanings.
> 
> I have no clue what the common interpretation of Pico is, so I just kind of went on a hunch. 
> 
> Once again, your feedback means a lot.


End file.
